Complications
by Maverickson
Summary: It's Christmas in July and Wilson is Jewish.


"I don't know what you're trying to tell me, here, House," I hiss as I stride past him again. He's been standing in the doorway of the kitchen for over twenty minutes, and he hasn't spoken the entire time.

If he were anyone else, he'd been waiting for a kiss. He's not anyone else, though, he's House, and I can't imagine that being the reason that he's standing underneath the mistletoe that _he _hung in my apartment. There is just no way that House is wanting a kiss from me.

I figure, maybe, that he's testing me. He just wants to see if I _will _kiss him, if I'm annoyed enough. I'll lean in to peck him on the cheek or something and he'll shove me away and then poke fun at me in one way or the other, laughing and limping over to the couch. Then he'll flip on the television and ignore every single one of my protests.

He's not even smiling. Or grinning. He's just standing there, all serious-like. Ten minutes into this crap, I became concerned that he was medically compromised in some way. Maybe his bad leg had flared up right as he'd stepped under the decoration and he was too scared to move because of the pain.

But all of that was wrong. It didn't even make sense- it was just wishful thinking on my own part.

All I know, really, is that it's up to me to figure this out. He _wants _me to figure it out. I'm just too scared to- I feel like whatever answer I come up with is very important. Something is _depending _on this. It's _important_.

Finally, after half an hour has gone by, I have to confront him. So, I stalk over to where he stands, folding my arms over the PPTH that's emblazoned in navy on my sweatshirt. He looks at me, but says nothing. There's interest and intrigue in his eyes, but nothing else. His lips don't even twitch.

"House, come on. It's not even Christmas. It's July. And I'm Jewish."

He finally responds, his eyes flickering now in a way that I've never even seen. It's like he's just had an epiphany or something, which he hasn't. He doesn't even look mischievous, which only confuses me further.

"So, if it _was _Christmas, _then_ what would happen?" his grip tightens on his cane. I'm sure that his leg is hurting _now_. It's amazing that he'd just stand there so long for such a thing as this even at the risk of his own comfort.

"Then we wouldn't be here doing nothing- we'd be getting drunk or something. I don't know. Not this," I throw my hands out, completely lost for what words he was wanting from me.

I know quickly that the words I had chosen weren't quite the right ones. He glowers then, with a nearly audible creak of his abused joints, he makes his way to the couch and falls into the cushions grumpily.

I just stare. After maybe an entire minute, I reach up and yank the mistletoe from the nail he'd hung it on and move towards him, squinting in curiosity and bewilderment.

"That's it? You're not even going to tell me what all of that was about?"

House stretches and lets his cane fall to the carpet at his feet as he leans into the couch to become as relaxed as possible, "Nope," he says, "You gave up your chance."

I suddenly realize that my heart is beating wildly in my chest and I frown. I feel giddy, excited. I have nothing to be excited about.

House looks over at me, puzzled. After a moment of stagnant silence I realize that my body had made its own decision. My arm shoots out so quickly that it startles us both. My hand ends up just above House's head and from it hangs the mistletoe, the bells sewn into it jingling at the movement.

Before he recovers from nearly being punched in the ear, House is trying to dodge something else. I lean over the back of the couch, and my face swoops next to his. He turns to me, startled, and my lips take his at the same time. I'm terrified in this movement, but exhilarated at the same time. Mostly terrified.

When I pull back, I drop the mistletoe, and it lands on House's shoulder and rolls off onto his lap, jingling innocently. It doesn't know that it just caused more problems than I previously thought possible for something so small.

There are so many complications in our friendship, and so many more problems. I can't find it in me to believe that what's just happened is going to be anything good at all with things already so delicately placed. Our friendship is fragile like glass and this kiss is a nothing but a sledgehammer.

"Holy crap," I say, shaking.

We're both silent then and it takes me a few minutes to decide that I want to sit next to him. So, I move to the front of the couch and House silently scoots over to give me some room. I don't know why, but I end up sitting very close to him.

When I finally look at him I see him grinning a little, smugly. I frown, "What?"

He shivers with silent laughter and my eyes narrow, "What!?"

He just shakes his head, "Oh, I always had faith in you, Wilson. I knew you could do it!"

I huff angrily, "So you _were _testing me. I have to admit House- this one took me by surprise." There's more silence before I add, "Oh, God, you're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

He laughs once, loudly, obnoxiously, "Well, that depends!"

I glare at the blank television screen and snort. I'm not in the mood at all to play this game, but I'll humor him, just a little, "Depends on what? What do I have to do?" Despair. This is going to be awful. Just awful. The worst yet.

"If you do it again, I'll keep quiet," he says, the smile gone.

I try to understand what he's trying to tell me and, as usual, it's hard to accomplish. When I do think I have it figured out, I'm shocked, mortified.

I turn to him, slowly, and he won't look at me now. He won't smile, and he's not about to laugh, "Wait..." I turn more, and I have to pull one of my legs up on to the couch to get the angle I want, "You wanted me to kiss you because you... _wanted me to kiss you_?" No ulterior motive? There was nothing else to it? He seriously had just wanted a kiss?

I fall back on the line I use in a good percentage of our conversations, "This is insane."

He sighs heavily, and his cane is in his hands again, he's twirling it around thoughtfully, probably wishing about now he had the ability to run. He'd be so gone if he could.

"Well?" He's angry now. I know better to realize he's only gone on the defensive. He's vulnerable.

I smile, a little, looking back at the television, "It wasn't particularly unpleasant. I'm still in one piece... as long as you promise to keep this a secret for now, I don't see what the problem is."

When he looks at me, I look at him. He's a very serious House right now, trying to analyze every detail of my face to make sure I'm not playing him. To make sure I'm not joking or scheming before he makes his next move.

He takes my face in both of his hands and kisses me. When he pulls away, he doesn't look at me. He turns on the television and says, "Merry... July, Wilson."

I smile as I take the mistletoe from his lap and hold it up, "I'm thinkin' this thing just earned a permanent place over the kitchen."

House smirks and my insecurities vanish. My doubt flies out of the window. Another complication, I think, but a good one.

(THE END?)


End file.
